


can't help falling in love

by vtforpedro



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Falling In Love, First Time, M/M, Mild Smut, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Apocalypse, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 02:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which love can finally be experienced.





	can't help falling in love

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt given by [maplegh0st](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/maplegh0st)

Aziraphale supposes it all started that day in the theater when Crowley had done a demonic miracle and made Hamlet popular.  
  
Oh, he had certainly... felt things before then. Perhaps not at their first meeting, but every meeting onwards, well, there was always a strange stirring in his heart and stomach. It was much like being lighthearted at all times, with spontaneous laughter and bouts of wanting to shout things from rooftops. There was a yearning deep within him that he hadn’t understood, not until Crowley had worked a miracle of his own.  
  
It hadn’t taken all that long to realize he was quite madly in love with a demon. That was a dangerous thing in itself, not taking into account what his side would have to say about it, or Crowley himself. It was far too improper and unnatural, he was sure, and yet…  
  
And yet he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop the immense love he felt whenever he was around Crowley. The beat of his heart when the demon smiled mischievously at him, or the tingle in his fingertips when Crowley touched his hand.  
  
He remembers one day long ago, a good handful of years after Hamlet had become popular, they had been sitting in a restaurant in Spain, reminiscing about the Spanish Inquisition one hundred some odd years ago. Crowley had been laughing about it while Aziraphale had been scolding him for doing such a thing and it had just… bubbled out of him. Quite by accident, he’s sure, as he had been as shocked by it as Crowley.  
  
“I think I’m rather in love with you, even when you’re being demonic.”  
  
Crowley’s mouth falling open very slowly as he gaped at Aziraphale from across the table… Crowley swallowing, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, the way he had stammered. The lovely blush on his cheeks.  
  
And then his warm hand, covering Aziraphale’s.  
  
“Been in love with you since the beginning, angel, even when you’re being angelic,” is what he had said.  
  
And goodness, what that had meant to Aziraphale. He would lament about the time wasted, so many thousands of years, both feeling for each other but never saying anything. But then… what could they do about it?  
  
They were an angel and demon, for heaven’s sake. They could hardly go around shouting about their love… they could hardly go around even holding hands. It was against everything written and said and Aziraphale had been beside himself with grief when he had realized it.  
  
So they had come to an agreement that they would never act on their love. That they risked being destroyed from the very plane of existence and that they couldn’t do that to each other. They would continue to see each other and dine at fine places, and they would continue to enjoy each other’s company, but they couldn’t act on anything more.  
  
Certainly there were a few times throughout history that was easier said than done. There were small moments, fleeting touches, and every once in a while, a stolen kiss.  
  
It hadn’t been nearly enough. It was like giving one droplet of water to a dying man. There was hardly enough to satisfy them, to lift them up, and with each passing year, Aziraphale thought it got more difficult.  
  
He could see the pain in Crowley’s eyes whenever Aziraphale took his hand away because anyone could be watching. Crowley would frown when Aziraphale reminisced about moments shared throughout earth’s history, because they were times that they couldn’t be together as anything more than friends.  
  
They have experienced so much together, so many important events, but they haven’t experienced each other. It breaks Aziraphale’s heart each time he thinks about it, so he tries not to.  
  
Times become easier, very steadily, as the world begins to turn into a modern one.  
  
Crowley rescues books for Aziraphale and Aziraphale falls a little more in love with him, but he can’t tell Crowley that. He knows that Crowley sees it, however, when they are driving home, and Aziraphale touches Crowley’s hand in a silent thanks.  
  
Time keeps moving forward, always at a steady pace, but some days Aziraphale wishes it might move a bit slower, so that he may enjoy a moment spent by Crowley’s side more.  
  
He tells Crowley this one day and Crowley smiles, as he always does, and says, “Who knows? Maybe Armageddon will never happen and they’ll stop caring.”  
  
But Armageddon does happen. It happens quite out of nowhere, with a baby and a mixup, but Aziraphale will be damned if he doesn’t try to stop it.  
  
Their agreement would have worked out swimmingly if heaven and hell weren’t so… well, hellbent on destroying each other. Aziraphale and Crowley may be incompetent on their best days, but at least they’re not trying to murder each other just for the sake of saying they did.  
  
The day comes that Aziraphale is discorporated and oh, how it makes his heart ache, to hear Crowley say _ I lost my best friend. _  
  
He knows he mustn't respond, as anyone can be listening, but he wants nothing more than to reach across the table and take Crowley in his arms.  
  
His demon with a heart three times the size of his own, he thinks.  
  
But the apocalypse doesn’t happen. The world doesn’t end, there is no war between heaven or hell, and one day, it is the beginning of the rest of their lives.  
  
The bookshop is back and so is Crowley’s Bentley, and heaven and hell won’t be bothering them anytime soon. They’ve come to think that Aziraphale and Crowley are _ other _ to them, and Aziraphale’s heart soars when Crowley reminds him he doesn’t have a side anymore.  
  
It’s both daunting and exhilarating. His entire purpose was to be an angel on earth, mingling with its people, watching them and watching for demonic activity. It’s all he’s known since nearly the beginning and to suddenly be without that purpose leaves him feeling… not quite himself, in the best of ways.  
  
He’s incredibly excited as they dine at the Ritz after everything has officially calmed down and they’ve ensured the world will keep spinning.  
  
They drink and eat and talk well into the evening and it is… lovely. It’s always lovely with Crowley, but there’s something different this time, and Aziraphale doesn’t quite grasp what it is until Crowley openly takes his hand and places the chastest of kisses to the back of it.  
  
In a public place.  
  
Aziraphale might gasp and act scandalized any other time, keeping up appearances, but this time… this time he can do nothing but look at Crowley in awe, a warm smile exchanged between them.  
  
“Would it be completely improper to kiss you?” Aziraphale asks.  
  
“Not really,” Crowley says. “Been waiting for you to do it all day, really.”  
  
Aziraphale chuckles and squeezes Crowley’s hand. He looks around the restaurant but no one is looking their way. These are modern times, after all, and no one is around that might cause trouble for them. Aziraphale takes in a deep, shuddering breath before he nods decisively.  
  
And he leans in closer to Crowley, who leans in closer to him, and they kiss.  
  
It feels like the first time.  
  
There are sparks running up and down Aziraphale’s spine and tingling in his fingers and toes. He supposes that’s a good thing and from the way Crowley melts against him and makes a soft, wounded noise, Aziraphale thinks that he must feel it too.  
  
Their kiss isn’t obscene or obnoxious, but small and passionate in a way they can only feel, in a way they can only see.  
  
Aziraphale pulls back, just enough to be able to breathe, and looks into Crowley’s eyes as Crowley carefully takes his sunglasses off. They peer at each other, smiles on their faces, until Aziraphale noses at Crowley’s ear and Crowley laughs breathlessly.  
  
“Perhaps we should take this home,” Aziraphale suggests with a grin. He picks up his champagne flute and holds it up toward Crowley. “Or to the bedroom, as they say.”  
  
Crowley chokes a little on air but he picks up his flute and taps it against Aziraphale’s. “That sounds good,” he says very hoarsely. “Yours or mine?”  
  
“Hmm,” Aziraphale hums. “Do you… have any sort of attachment to yours?”  
  
Crowley frowns and sounds confused when he says, “Just to my chair.”  
  
“And plants, perhaps?”  
  
“No,” Crowley says sourly. He sighs as Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “Maybe a bit.”  
  
Aziraphale smiles as he finishes his champagne. “I was thinking then, if you’d like to bring your chair and plants to the bookshop, we might… live together.”  
  
Crowley’s mouth falls open and he gapes at Aziraphale. He looks incredibly vulnerable, not at all oozing confidence, and Aziraphale gently grasps his hand.  
  
“There are no more sides,” he says. “There’s nothing to worry about. But if you’d rather stay at your place, I do understand, of course.”  
  
“Fuck my place,” Crowley says, loudly enough that a few patrons gasp. He makes a face at them before looking at Aziraphale again. “I don’t think we’ll be left alone forever.”  
  
“No, not likely,” Aziraphale agrees. “But perhaps they’ll be used to it by then.”  
  
Crowley laughs. “Yeah, they might be,” he says, and his eyes soften. “I’d like to move into the bookshop. There’s a bit more color in there.”  
  
Aziraphale’s heart soars and he beams at Crowley.  
  
“Alright, tone it down a bit,” Crowley says, but he’s smiling to himself. “Let’s get out of here.”  
  
They pay for their meals and get into Crowley’s Bentley after. He pats the steering wheel fondly, but still drives like a lunatic through the streets of London. Aziraphale is as relieved as he always is when they arrive at the bookshop (how awkward it would be to be discorporated these days), and hurriedly gets out of the car.  
  
He waits for Crowley and when Crowley walks at his side, Aziraphale takes his hand and holds tightly onto it. Crowley squeezes back just as tightly.  
  
They enter the bookshop but Aziraphale doesn’t open it for the day. He pulls the blinds down instead and takes Crowley in his arms and kisses him.  
  
Crowley clings to him like a man drowning, and the soft noises that leave the back of his throat send molten hot fire into Aziraphale’s gut and… lower.  
  
It isn’t hard to undress each other, or to take their time getting to know each other when they reach the bedroom. It’s so very easy to map out Crowley’s body, to touch and kiss him until he’s gasping for air, to find out what he likes and give it to him.  
  
It’s so very easy to follow Crowley’s directions and it’s so easy to let Crowley do the same for him.  
  
He knows Crowley, with everything that he is. He knows his nuances, he knows what he loves and what he hates, he knows nearly everything about him. Crowley was never good at hiding himself from Aziraphale, and he’s thankful for that. It helps to guide him, knowing Crowley’s heart as intimately as he does.  
  
Crowley’s fingernails dig into his back but it’s a soothing pain. A small sting, to know that it’s real, that this isn’t something he’s dreaming. That the slide of Crowley’s hot skin against his isn’t a figment of his imagination.  
  
To know that when he’s finally within Crowley, they might be able to do this again, without any worries or concerns.  
  
Aziraphale clutches Crowley’s hips and rocks into him and stares into his yellow eyes. Crowley doesn’t look away for a second and, if there are tears there, Aziraphale says nothing, but merely kisses them away.  
  
It’s not an explosion that ends it, but a soft cry, and the smoothness of an angel’s wings. It’s gentle and yet all encompassing, and worth the wait of centuries.  
  
Aziraphale holds Crowley in his arms after and slides his fingertips through Crowley’s beautiful red hair.  
  
“You’re perfect,” he tells Crowley.  
  
And Crowley laughs and tightens his grip on Aziraphale’s arms. “If I’m perfect, what does that make you?”  
  
“...a perfect compliment to you, I suppose.”  
  
Crowley smiles and looks up at Aziraphale, his eyes infinitely soft, filled with the wonder of love.  
  
“Don’t go being too perfect,” Crowley warns. “At some point I won’t be able to keep up.”  
  
“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale sighs and presses a kiss to Crowley’s temple. “I’ve been trying to keep up with _ you _ all these years.”  
  
“Suppose we’ll just have to keep pace with each other.”  
  
“A perfectly angelic demon and a perfectly demonic angel. What do you say?”  
  
Crowley grins. “To the next millennia, angel, side by side.”  
  
“Side by side.”  
  
And, Aziraphale thinks, what greater love story is there?

**Author's Note:**

> I really loved this prompt idea. c: Thank you for it, maplegh0st!
> 
> Kudos and comments mean everything. I'd love to know what you think.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


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